


Aubade

by bagheerita, Eos_x



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Art, Digital Art, Episode: s04e20 The Last Man, Fanart, Far Future, Fix-It of Sorts, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Portraits, Quests, Storytelling, Trans Female Character, Wraith (Stargate), discussion of previous character death but no one dies in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagheerita/pseuds/bagheerita, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eos_x/pseuds/Eos_x
Summary: The Old One is one of the few remaining in the galaxy who remembers a time before the coming of the Inheritors. But as he embarks on a journey long awaited he finds himself challenged to recallwhythis journey is so important to him.Time has dried the sea from the land, and time also is about to be shortened- as they approach the moment of chance that will connect "now” with “then.”
Relationships: John Sheppard/Todd the Wraith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Cover art

**Author's Note:**

> Story by bagheerita, with art by Eos!!
> 
> From bagheerita: Eos originally inspired me to write this story when she gave me the word "nemophilist" and suggested that I write a story using it. The story ended up not fitting that original word as a title idea, but that was the first seed, and it grew from there. I'm so excited that she felt inspired to add some art to my story!! :D 
> 
> From Eos: Working with Bagheerita to create the images for this story was just way too much fun! So much fun in fact, that it took over the time that I should have probably been doing real-life adult-type things. This amazing story just kept luring me away from responsibility and into the realm of imagination. Who could possibly ignore such a call? XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (An “aubade” is a love song sung at dawn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the images (from Eos):  
> *The design for this cover was inspired by iconic sci-fi novel covers of the 1970s.  
> *Like some of the other images included within this story, Eos used the Polish App to assemble the layouts before digitally painting in the characters/main set pieces.


	2. 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (From bagheerita: This story isn’t set in the same universe as the my name forevermore series, but I do include some of my same headcanons and original creations, such as the Fayn, a race of reptilian aliens, and some of my same original characters.)  
> (From Eos: Illustrations in this chapter include drawings of some of the characters who go on the journey with the Old One, the Old One himself, a story banner and chapter letter.)

* * *

he town's activity doesn't slow down at all as the relative coolness of morning warms to the day’s scorching heat. Tent panels flap up and down the sides of the streets as the wind comes in hot off the desert, and people are singing and laughing as they paint bright patterns on adobe walls in honor of the Inheritors. 

The Old One sits still, eyes closed to slits.

Jenris, her five-year-old face screwed up in concentration and already painted with a broad mask of striking yellow swirls, paints symbols on the Old One's face with a long-handled brush: the circle, the hexagonal web of the hive pods, and the spire, all in warm ochre red. The holiday is a time of remembering all the things of their ancestors and Jenris grins proudly, stepping back to announce that she is finished. "The circle is the source of life," she intones, gesturing to the pattern on his cheek, her red lines painted over the black ones marked in his skin. He turns his face, and she points to the other cheek, saying, "The spire is the sign to the traveler in the wasteland. They have come near to where the ancestors rest." She taps the end of the brush on his forehead, and finishes, "The hive brings memory, togetherness, love."

The Old One bows his head to her. "Those who are marked with the sandstorm are reputed as fierce warriors and holders of great knowledge," he replies with a smirk.

Jenris makes an approximation of a return bow, and giggles as she runs to her father. Maky grins in response, looking down at his daughter. "Thank you for your patience," he says to the Old One.

The Old One shakes his shaggy head. "It is well," is all he says. Words feel not enough to hold everything he feels on this day; he always appreciates the exuberance of the very young, but today is a day he is particularly inclined toward joy, and her youthful excitement thrills a response in him. Today is the day he begins his journey.

Maky ruffles his hand through Jenris' hair. "We'll make the trek to the old city in a month or two," he says. "When the storms wane, and the caravans depart after the holiday. They say the sun is getting too large, that even the edges of the desert will soon be uninhabitable." 

The Old One nods. "The heliosts have held it back as long as they can," he observes. "The hives have already taken many to other worlds."

Maky nods. "My sister went on the last hive before the storm season," he affirms. He pauses and looks at the Old One. "You remember, Samran? I have not heard from her since she left. But," he hurries to add, "that is not unusual."

"Samran?" the Old One confirms, then closes his eyes and reaches out through the web of interconnected minds of all the Wraith he knows who fill the galaxy, and they each reach out to those that they know, and finally the Old One says, "Samran, sister of Maky, mother of Ehrow, wife of Mildred, is settled on New Genus." He opens his eyes. "Taibshe relays greetings, passed through Tyka who also resides on New Genus. Do you have any message you wish to send in return?" 

Maky closes his eyes, visibly suppressing emotion. "Tell her that Jenris and Em miss their cousin, and that Ben and I are doing well. We hope to see them soon." 

The Old One sends the message back along the threads that bind Wraith minds, to be spoken aloud to the human at the other end. He smirks as he communicates, "She says Ben's stubbornness is well known, and she is glad you are finally ready to join her."

Maky grins, shaking his head. "Safe travels, Commander," he says, bowing respectfully and returning to the festival around them.

Marked for his journey, the Old One pulls his cloak around him and over his long coat and sets out to the edge of town. He walks past giggling children racing in between the tents and buildings with dexterous ease, Wraith performers with voices rising in familiar rumbling hums warming up for the Telling of the History, vendors calling out to all concerning the magnificence of their wares. 

They are the sounds of _life_. The Old One has spent many centuries, and millennia even, lost to silence and emptiness, and he appreciates the sounds as he heads out of town to meet up with the others. 

He sees Derra first- the lean, muscular shadow the man makes catches the Old One's hunter's eye as Derra rests against a painted brick wall, casually watching a troupe of dancers interact with the crowd before their main performance. The shadow shifts as the human raises his hand and bites into a _pranes_ fruit he holds, the dyed strands of his black hair bobbing as he bends his attention to this task. 

"Derra," the Old One calls him, and the man turns at the sound of the Old One's voice.

He steps away from the wall, finishing his _pranes_ fruit. "The rest are already waiting," Derra says. He holds out a bag of the orange fruits in offering. 

The Old One is interested but shakes his head. There will be time for that later. After. He is very much concerned with _after_ at the moment. Derra selects another fruit and puts the rest in his pack.

The others are strung along the outskirts of the town, seeming unconnected to each other until Eli's soft calling in their thoughts brings them all together, trailing after the Old One. Eli herself falls in at the Old One's left hand; the top of her head is barely even with his shoulder, but a Wraith queen isn't judged by her stature and she isn't bothered to be flanked by giants, Derra striding at her own left hand and matched to the Old One in height.

Clar approaches them determinedly. Bluska trails closely at her heels with the protective air of an older sibling but refrains from actually assisting her further with the patience of one who is well acquainted with the sharpness of her tongue. Derra offers Clar a _pranes_ and she curls her lip at him in affront. "Those things are _poisonous_ you know," she mutters, twitching her cloak around her and sidestepping Bluska's shadow as it looms over her comparatively shorter form.

Ezran joins them last, slender and windblown and no one noticing hir until xe says to the Old One, "Nice paint," voice lilting and irreverent, blue eyes flashing under brown hair that xe is constantly swiping out of hir face as it falls in hir eyes. The Old One responds with a toothy grin and thoughts of fondness. Ezran and the Old One have a history between them that is longer than this human’s own life- longer than the life of this desert.

They head out of the town to the meeting point. Those trying to cross the wasteland to reach the old city usually need a guide and, to an observer, providing this service is their purpose today. They have their own goals and motives each, but the Old One called them to this place, and they came, aligning their journey with his for this time.

The sun is hot above them, the air shimmering with the weight of it now that they are away from any offer of shade, the scrub trees that are thick around the town straggling away into thin tufts of grass and hardy weeds. Their group gathers at the place where the dirt fades into the rock and sand that is the true desert of the wasteland.

After they have been waiting for a few moments, Derra pulls out his canteen, offering it to Eli before drinking from it himself.

Eli shakes her head in denial, her slit-pupiled eyes scanning the horizon. "I don't see them yet," Eli reports. Her voice is rougher than usual; the Old One can tell she is excited about their quest. "They are late." 

The Old One looks up as well, following the horizon. "They have time," he tells her. “We are not hindered by their tardiness yet." 

"We may all have the goal of the old city," Ezran puts in, pulling hir hood deeper over hir head, "but they can always go their own path. It may take longer, and be more dangerous, but that is their own concern."

Derra grins, showing as many teeth as a Wraith, though they are bright white against the black of his skin. Bluska returns the expression, pointed conical teeth and green skin a false mirror, and Clar sighs at them both. She pulls the fall of her cloak tighter around her body, fastening it close across the flat planes of her chest, and securing the head wrap so that it will not blow off and reveal her to the harsh elements.

The six of them stand in a loose circle and the Old One looks at each of them. Bluska has been his companion since a time when he remembered his own name, the Wraith's loyalty never in doubt and his steadfastness always appreciated. Eli is the youngest of the three Wraith, only having reached her first millennium a handful of years ago. Named after an ancient queen of her bloodline, Eli possesses unique talents that will aid them in finding their way to the city, a journey that usually involves wandering a desert with few constant landmarks. 

Then there are the humans- or mostly so. Derra is a strong and quiet shadow, as he has been through all the long decades in which they have known each other. Clar is perhaps the one who needs watching on this journey; her delicate constitution will be battered by the desert, but her indomitable spirit would not allow her to _not_ be present for this day. And Ezran; the Old One has felt the touch of hir mind since xe was born, but xe is often too much the child of hir long distant ancestors for his comfort, being rather prone to seeking situations that end up more perilous than first suspected.

"You know why I asked you to be here," the Old One says. "And you have your own reasons for coming. The journey is easy enough," he observes, and Derra laughs under his breath. The Old One pauses to acknowledge that many do perish on the trip, or get lost in the wasteland, which amounts to the same thing. "With Eli’s assistance especially.” He inclines his head to her; she sniffs and flicks her long, red hair back off her shoulder. “What we will find when we arrive is perhaps another story.” The Old One locks eyes with Clar. She smiles, a secret smile. He finishes, “But I would not have reached out to you if I did not value your presence."

Bluska grins. "So effusive, Commander."

Ezran, next to Bluska, elbows him and offers, "Good thing we already know our worth." 

Bluska chuckles. 

Eli sighs at the childishness of all of them. "Pay attention. They are here."

The Old One will not admit that he hasn't been paying attention, allowing the group they are ostensibly escorting to sneak up on them, but he _had_ heard them before Eli pointed them out. He curls his lips back from his teeth and turns to face the group of newcomers who are walking up to them.

They are only four, dressed in enveloping cloaks against the desert. In the current storm season sandstorms can separate travelers from each other quicker than they can draw breath and the Old One agrees with this group having approached Derra for an escort across the wasteland; a small group increases the likelihood all will become lost, especially if none of them are Wraith. The journey is not _difficult-_ as long as one can tell the correct direction in which to travel. But even in seasons of _fewer_ storms, there is a prevalence of electromagnetic storms which disrupt most equipment. The same storms make flying a vessel near the old city an act of suicidal intent; one reason, other than the stubbornness of those like Maky's husband, that many remain on this planet rather than simply forming a constant line waiting at the Stargate to depart. 

The group of newcomers' leader is a mature human woman, her hair a collection of long strands of brown and grey twisted into a thick plait that is draped over her shoulder, pulled off her back to not catch under the heavy pack she carries there. "Greetings," she says, halting just beyond Eli and leaning on a long staff. "I am Charis." Her face is weathered by the desert, and her expression is calm.

The Old One inclines his head to her, subtly impatient; Derra had handled contracting with her previously and who she is matters little to him. "Your people may take a moment, and then we will depart." 

"We are ready," is her serene reply. She holds out her free arm for the next of the four to come to her, and he steps against her side, leaning into her comfortingly. His cloak is pulled low over his face, but the Old One sees that the skin of his hands and neck is scaled. The third cloaked figure raises her head to glare at them, revealing by her face that she is indeed of the Fayn, jaws parted in a silent hiss, the scales rippling dark green over her face under the scarlet of her eyes. She is of a similar height to the male figure, and the Old One assumes they are nest mates. They are tall enough that they could be mistaken for adults by human standards, but Fayn are slow to mature and they seem young enough mentally to still cling to their maternal figure.

The last of the four raises his hands. His fingernails are dark, and the back of his right hand is tattooed with an Iratus. He lifts his hood, looking at the faces arrayed before him in interest, surprise marked over features that are somewhere between Wraith and human. His eyes are glowing yellow, but the pupils are round. "I did not think I would see again a face I remember," he begins, his gaze coming to rest on the Old One.

The Old One bares his teeth to their roots, a snarl of anger in his throat. Bluska and Ezran look up, sensing his emotion, and Eli stares fixedly at the group's last member, her head cocked in predatory interest. The Old One demands, " _You_ have come _here_ , _now_ , for what reason?"

Charis steps between them. "This is Lares," she says, then pulls attention away from him as she pulls the male Fayn she holds closer and gestures to the female with her chin. "These are Severn and Wye, my grandchildren." She looks at the Old One stubbornly. "Will you take us to the old city, so we can leave this world?" 

The Old One snarls. He memorized, long ago, the time elapse given to him by Old Maky, but he would have thought that no one else knew. No one but those Old Maky trusted should know what day draws near, but why is _this one_ here, of all days?

"I do not wish to cause trouble," Lares says mildly. His eyes pass over all of them and rest on Ezran, his expression growing curious. 

"Lares came to me years ago," Charis says, glaring at the Old One stubbornly. "He has not chosen to appear this day against whatever purpose you believe he has." 

"Do you know who he is?" Clar asks, her voice imperious and disdainful. The Old One is comforted by it; Bluska is old enough to have been there to _see_ some of this one's treachery, but Clar _remembers_ everything.

But when Charis responds, "Yes," Clar does not ask her for more. Ezran looks at Lares with interest clear in hir expression. 

_Beware,_ the Old One tells Ezran. _This one has been treacherous in times past._

Ezran barely heeds him; the Old One has warned about things like this before, and he is not always right. 

Lares gazes out over the sand. "I came to Charis by chance, whatever you believe, and I did not know you would be here today. Much is missing in my memories, but I remember this world. I was here when water covered it, from horizon to horizon." He looks out at that horizon wistfully. 

Eli sighs, her manner easy and confident. "It will be well," she admonishes them all, and the Old One covers his teeth. She is right; _she_ could handle whatever threat "Lares" brings, never mind the rest of them.

"Very well," the Old One rumbles. "Let us depart."

Charis nods in acceptance, and they begin.

The Old One leads, and they string out in a line across the desert behind him. 

Eli follows first, toward the front, alert but calm, not expecting trouble. Next comes Charis, followed closely by Severn and Wye. 

Clar glares at Charis, but falls back to walk behind, toward the middle of the group. Bluska is not far from her. After them is Derra's calm and trailing at the end of the procession are Lares and Ezran.

The sun beats down on their covered heads.

* * *

They walk through the rest of the day and most of the night. Fighting their way through sand that moves and shifts underfoot leaves them with little opportunity or interest in conversation- except between Ezran and Lares who chat mentally, which makes the Old One's lip curl reflexively. 

When darkness comes, they have passed into a rocky area, and the moons give enough light to see by as they walk on. They aren't navigating by any skyborn bodies, so they don't need the light to keep their course, but it is useful for placing their steps, especially for the humans. 

By the end of the night Bluska is carrying Clar and the rest of the humans are looking weary. It's right about when they need it that Ezran, scouting ahead now, alerts the Old One that xe has found the cave. 

The Old One leads the group to the cave on Ezran's signal. It is a waystation set up by others, a natural wind- or perhaps, millennia ago, water- carved overhanging rock that they can seek shelter under, with a heavy door that has been fitted to close the wide opening against the elements. The cave is deep enough that there is no shortage of air, and even, the Old One knows, at the very depth of it, a spring that occasionally runs with water. Their group enters, Charis settling along one wall, her Fayn charges on either side of her. Derra starts a fire in the firepit with the chemical reagent from his supplies, the light for comfort rather than any use or warmth. Though the temperature will continue to drop in the short time that remains before dawn, it will soon rise steadily when the sun returns.

They are joined by Eli moments later, who had been scouting in the other direction. "Nice find," she hisses at Ezran, and they laugh at their joke while Clar rolls her eyes and Charis looks politely confused.

Derra passes out travel rations to Clar, Ezran, and Eli. Bluska and the Old One ate earlier, and Wraith metabolism is slow even on a solid food diet. Charis has her own supplies for her charges. 

The Old One returns outside to pace a circuit around the cave, mostly for show's sake as there are not likely to be any dangers here- beyond the terrain and the weather. Speaking of… he sees a dark shadow covering the sky to the southeast and smells the burning of the air.

_There is a lightning storm coming, with the dawn,_ he tells Eli. He feels her acknowledge him and then pass the information on to the others. They will be here some time, waiting it out. But there is no rush, as of yet. There is time. He is early.

The Old One turns to find Lares watching him. He is bundled against the elements, but his eyes stand out against the dark night, bright golden yellow, with their oddly round pupils. "You remember me," Lares asks. 

The Old One bares his teeth in answer.

Lares nods, accepting this. "I have forgotten many things," he confesses. "And there are even more things that I only half remember.” He raises his bare hand, his skin too pink to be Wraith and too veined to be human. "Half… or less.” He meets the Old One’s eyes. “I have wondered who I am. But there are no others like me."

The Old One sighs. More than his anger at remembered betrayal, he knows what it's like to be alone. "There aren't many any longer. Though there used to be more."

Lares leans his head back as if struck by this information. “But they are not on this world.” He looks around at the desert. “I was born here. I know that. But… it is wrong, too.”

The Old One sighs again. He is annoyed, but he has long been seized by a mandate and he answers, "Go inside. I think Clar will tell the history tonight in honor of the holiday, and because we will have the time. It will be things you need to hear. "

Lares bows his head and returns. 

After a time longer- when the wind and the clouds are too much to see the stars- the Old One follows. 

The cave is pleasantly warm, and the Old One is reminded of _hive,_ and the comfort of _togetherness_. 

Clar is truly immersed in her telling, the synthetic planes of her face animated in something other than superiority for once. 

"And so, when the Enemy fired upon them the main tower of the city was struck, and their queen fell, mortally wounded. The city rose up from the waters, and they fled from the world of Lantea."

The observers watch, each in their own way. Derra is checking the supplies in his pack, listening best when his hands are busy. Eli sits with her head leaned back slightly, the picture of rapt attention except that her eyes are closed to slits as she basks in the sensation of the story's telling rather than the view of the storyteller. Bluska looks proud of Clar's talent, and Ezran is mostly not listening, having heard the story many, many times before. 

Lares is as rapt as Eli, inhaling sharply at all the dramatic moments, and the Old One would almost believe him, that he has forgotten his own history. 

Forgetting is sometimes easier than remembering. And sometimes it is more difficult, as he well knows. 

“And after the fall of Elishavethir, then came the reign of the great Queen Kenakata. Her reign is remembered even now as a time of glory. This was when alliance was first made between Lanteans and Wraith, and Kenakata stood above the world of the Enemy, uniting twelve clans of Wraith and the humans of two galaxies to ensure the destroyers would cease in their effort to end all life. 

“As the Old One can testify, she sent her Commander to seek further alliance when her sister queen Talamagan was taken into darkness and the life of her child was persecuted, for the Dark One had returned to spend his anger against Talamagan.” 

The young Fayn hiss softly, and Lares is sitting stiffly. Ezran’s eyes are soft on him.

Clar continues, her voice clear. “The Old One and Kenakata’s Commander, who was the city’s favored son, came to an understanding, but then he vanished from all the worlds known. It was seen as betrayal of the promises he had made on his queen’s behalf, and the alliance of two galaxies was almost broken. But Kenakata was a wise queen who read the hearts of all. At this time as well, her beloved mate had fallen in battle on a distant world, and she took the loss that tore at her and brought it to the Old One, baring her honest wound before him so that it could match his own, forming a stronger bond rather than allow what she had built to crumble.”

The Old One closes his eyes. He remembers, but he doesn’t _remember_. He knows he made alliance with Kenakata, but he doesn’t remember her initial approach through the intermediary of her Commander. He can almost see her eyes, red with weeping, the strong set of her jaw that refused to be denied, and the flicker of the blade she drew when he, in his own grief, attacked her. But he does not remember the words she spoke that convinced him of her sincerity. Not that it matters now. His remembering does not change the truth of history; he said yes to her, and the alliance between Wraith and humans grew.

“While they came to their understanding, Talamagan proved she was a powerful queen in her own right and freed herself from the Dark One who had bespelled her mate, and came forward, her mate and her child with her, to be reunited with her sister Kenakata.”

Lares inhales softly; Ezran lays a hand on his knee but gets no response. 

“The Dark One had been angry, but the anger of Talamagan that her offspring should be threatened was such that it is a thing still spoken of by mothers and progenitors throughout the galaxy to the younglings they would defend.” 

Bluska chuckles, Eli hums a low note, and Derra rolls his eyes with a fond smirk. The Old One knows they are remembering the truth of this in their own lives; Derra’s mother is a formidable woman even he encounters with caution.

Clar glares at them for interrupting and continues. “Talamagan struck at the Dark One. But.” Clar holds up her hands. “There are some who do not fall. Even as the queen Elishavethir was mortally wounded yet returned in years after. Even so the Dark One was cut down by Talamagan but returned at the time when she was in deepest need, to save the life of the child he had once imperiled.” 

Ezran is gently rubbing Lares’ knee comfortingly, but Lares seems caught in the reawakening of memories.

“That’s enough for now, Clar,” Derra murmurs. He nods to where Severn and Wye are fighting fiercely drooping eyelids in an effort to pay attention. 

Clar smiles to see so many so attentive, but nods. “The tales I could tell of the queenship of Talamagan, and the tales of her offspring, as many as the stars, could take the entirety of our lives, much less this journey. And many of them are popular, and known already, even to the young.” She turns her fond smile on Severn and Wye. “It is a good ending place,” she agrees. “To follow this telling still, after this was when Kenakata opened the gateway to another galaxy and brought forth more of her kinsmen, which is itself quite an involved tale. Sleep now, and we will continue speaking of history after you have rested.” She curls in her long cloak; she doesn’t need to sleep, but will use the time for processor realignment, as she once described it to the Old One.

They all settle themselves down to rest. Even for Wraith, who also do not require the sleep that the humans do, there is a great benefit in resting with one another, in letting ties of hivesense build between their dozing minds. Derra lets the flames of the fire sink into embers.

The Old One can feel Lares thinking, and so isn’t surprised when Lares reaches out to him tentatively with his mind. _This is why you know me. I am the Dark One._ He greets the knowledge with trepidation but also pleasure, to have the memory returned. _I remember her. Talamagan._ He pauses, and says clearly, _Teyla Emmagan._

The Old One snarls silently. He doesn’t remember, precisely. _It was long ago,_ he growls. _I remember I had much anger for you,_ he adds _,_ because he does remember that. He knows the story of the Forest of Hieli and how young Tora'amagan, firstborn of the queen Talamagan, was captured by those who would use the child to destroy her, and how he was saved by the Dark One and returned to his mother safely, but these actions do not soften his anger.

He feels Lares’ confusion. _I would like to remember why that is._ His mental voice is soft, and not entirely truthful.

The Old One opens his eyes and glares at the other’s form in the darkness. _It was not the last time I held you at fault,_ he adds. 

Lares turns away, exasperated. _How can you know that I did something when you don’t remember? I do not remember_ you _until later, but I remember the humans. Elishavethir_. His lips pull back from teeth too human to warrant the severity of the gesture. _Elizabeth Weir. She did this to me. And Beckett. I remember._

_Old Maky was your fault,_ the Old One grumbles. _That I do remember wholly._

Lares shakes his head. Clar’s eyes fix on him, catching the movement in the low light. _McKay,_ Lares says. _He wasn’t too bad. I remember he tried to befriend me when the others lied._ He looks down at his hands. The Old One thinks Lares’ eyes probably aren’t as suited to the darkness as a Wraith’s are. _I don't remember doing anything to him,_ he says. He looks up and the Old One snarls silently.

Lares continues, seemingly interested in speaking even if the Old One has no interest in listening. _I remember much of what I learned in those days, from the books they gave me to fill my time, to help me remember to be someone I had never been._ He looks over to where Charis is sleeping. _I named the Fayn. Charis takes in lost ones, as you may have noticed. Their clan’s ship had crashed; there were only five survivors. The other three were kits, barley out of the egg, so another family took them, but Charis enjoys a challenge._ His expression is fond, if wondering. _She took me in as well, when I appeared on her doorstep, not remembering what had happened to me._

_What did happen to you?_ Eli asks, and the Old One snarls aloud, almost waking the others. He’d forgotten her ability to listen in wherever she wished. _You won’t sleep,_ Eli observes. _So, tell me more about you._

She says it with a queen’s command, which Lares does not fight. 

_My ship had crashed. I hadn't known then about the lightning that is stronger near the old city. I… I think I was trying to go there. But I was wounded such that when Charis offered to take me to the Stargate and help me find my people, I couldn’t remember where to go. But my people are gone._ He sighs. _You said it, and I do remember. There was a time when I had a hive of my own. Hybrids, outcasts- and those who underwent the gene therapy before the retrovirus became the more popular option to control the feeding and then were afterward considered deformed by other Wraith._

The Old One is disgruntled again. _It was not like that,_ he insists, but it was over forty thousand years ago, and he’s not certain he was paying attention at that point in the timeline. 

_We all have reasons for the way we are,_ Lares says. His eyes flicker in the darkness, glowing orange. _But you do not even remember why you are as you are._

This Lares is intent on annoying him, and on a regular day the Old One would gladly tear his head off and leave him in the desert. He has a mandate for the peace, but it only goes so far. But also, the holiday is about remembering. He touches the paint flaking on his cheek. He can’t see the color of it against his fingers, but he can feel the residue. _I lost something_ , he says. _Something painful. And I lost part of myself. I am going in search of it now. Old Maky gave me the time when it would reappear. So, I will be there, waiting. And we will see what happens then._

Lares bares his teeth again but subsides. _I know what it is to lose something,_ he observes. _There was one I lost._ His eyes rest on Ezran, who, though ostensibly sleeping, and _not_ possessing Eli's talent, opens hir eyes. _He was much like you,_ Lares says.

Ezran blinks hir eyes in acknowledgement, but does not speak, that the Old One can hear anyway.

* * *

The night trails off into silence, though not many are actually sleeping.

When everyone is finished pretending to sleep, and the humans break the fast, Derra stirring up the fire's embers, Clar begins.

"History is vast, and there are as many tales for each teller as there are grains of sand in the desert. I could do nothing but tell them for the rest of time and still not tell them all.

"But I have been asked for a particular telling." Clar looks at Eli, sitting beside her, then out at her audience.

"This happened long after the last tale, when I spoke last night of the first coming of the Inheritors. At this time, eight millennia after the rule of Kenakata the Listening Queen, all lived together, as they had desire to. Wraith often preferred their hives to being planet bound, but the hives were full of the sounds of human life as well. Humans lived on planets, or on their ships, or on their space stations. And there were many others who visited our galaxy, such as the Tok'ra and the Fayn, who found their places in between."

Severn and Wye look up and Wye bares her teeth in a dangerous, glinting grin.

"There was no queen greater than any other, but there was no reason for one to rise and unite them,” Clar continues. “Wraith and human scholars had established a great center of learning in the city of the Ancestors- the city called Atlantis. It was famed for holding the knowledge and history of almost two deceimillenii. 

"Those who remembered the days before the peace dwindled, and the last of those who remembered, and who were not Wraith, was Old Maky.

"Old Maky had been one of the first of the Inheritors, and he was now the last.” Clar spreads a hand demurely. “Except for their first queen, Elishavethir, whom it was believed had perished but who only slept at this time. Old Maky had long ago transferred his powerful intellect to be held by a body that would not age and fail him as swiftly as his mortal one had." Clar holds up one hand; the synthflesh moves over her joints. 

"But his spirit was mortal still, and this is the story of the end of Old Maky.

"When most of the galaxy was at peace with its parts, there came one remembered as Suurin. He had an anger against many, and this is where I will mention the hybrids."

Lares looks up. 

"Though places were opened to them, their ability to sense other's thoughts often made them able to see past the surface of words and they knew where they were not truly welcomed. So, they mostly made their own place. They were led by one called Bright Star, who was a talented geneticist. In many ways he made them, and, in all ways, he made them _hive_.” 

The Wraith all hum, and Lares looks like he has realized he doesn’t wish to hear this story.

“Suurin was a child of pain, evident in his actions though none remember the truth of his history. He was welcomed by those who had also known pain and offered a place among the hybrids. He tried to make a place there, but his spirit was restless and full of anger. He found in Bright Star's past logs of notations a project long abandoned, and he stirred it to new life. A plague that brought death to humans, and to the Wraith who would share life with them.”

Eli curls her lips in a snarl. She’s heard the story before of course, but it still rankles with her. For Bluska it is an old memory that only brings an echo of sorrow; not because it was long ago, though it was, but because he was very young at the time, still shadowing his progenitor’s steps as she worked beside Old Maky in the city.

The Old One remembers a time when humans always died under his hand, though by now a greater part of his life has been lived without. He remembers, perhaps vaguely, the first plague, the first time he saw one of his brothers taken by death when feeding. The memory brings with it an urgency. He had known where to go then, had remembered where to find answers. The Old One raises his head and looks toward the closed door and listens to the wind outside. He has forgotten things under the weight of millennia… but the city is the right direction. Going to Atlantis for answers is a familiar path. He closes his eyes and he can almost see Old Maky scowling at him. _"Promise me you’ll remember," Old Maky had said as he had hurried to the ship. The Old One had snarled at him and Maky had said pointed words about the Old One's own responsibilities to his hive before continuing his previous thoughts. "You’ll probably be measuring time differently by then, but I wrote down the calculations._ Atoms _won’t change. Hopefully the transfer will work and one of the bots can go with you. But… Look, I wanted to be there for him too, but I’m going to have to take care of this. I’d feel better if I’d gotten around to storing a backup somewhere, at least that’d be something of me. I’m sure Astyana can figure out the bots, just… I wanted to be there. I’m trusting you with him, okay? T-"_ He’d said other things, which the Old One no longer remembers. But he did remember the calculations. That was important. He knows that. Old Maky had known that, and Old Maky had known why it was important.

“Suurin killed many, but his plague had no effect on Old Maky. So Old Maky went with Bright Star to confront him and bring an end to him. Suurin knew they would come, and he was ready. He prepared to unleash his plague on more victims, but Old Maky had a power over all forms of technology and he could control and force to his whim the systems that Suurin planned to use to disperse his venom, preventing them from completing the command Suurin gave to them. Some say Bright Star died that day, though some say not. 

“But certainly, while Suurin fell dead, his fortress was infested with the plague and the only way to remove it was with fire. So Old Maky burned it, Suurin, himself, and all of Bright Star’s millennia of hoarded notes, so that the plague would never again touch any who lived in the galaxy.”

Silence stretches for a long beat before Lares inhales raggedly and stands. He walks away from the light and to the back of the cave. 

Ezran rises to follow him, but Lares returns swiftly. “You don’t _know_ ,” he hisses. “You have forgotten his _name_. It was not Bright Star who died that day, but all that he loved. ‘Suurin’ destroyed his beloved Halid, who died in his arms from the very disease he had first unleashed on the humans to punish the Wraith for rejecting him.” He sinks to his knees. “How can you have forgotten him so thoroughly that there is not even _mention_ of him?”

The Old One feels the words echo in him accusingly. _“You don’t remember,” Old Maky says, his voice incredulous. “How can you ‘not remember’? I thought you loved him! Carter said you listened because you cared; that she knew you loved him as much as she loved Jack.”_

Ezran steps toward Lares but is beaten to it by the young Fayn. Severn and Wye curl around Lares, hissing at Ezran. Xe disregards their warning and drops to kneel at Lares’ side, resting hir hand on Lares’ arm. “ _You_ remember,” Ezran says, hir voice soft in the quiet cave. “After this many years, I think he would be glad that you remember the care he had for you.” Xe leans against Lares, Severn moving to make space for hir, and looks over at the Old One. “Sometimes we only remember what was important to us. And sometimes we remember by living what was important to the ones we love.”

The Old One snarls silently and looks away. Ezran is, in many ways, unsettling. As Wraithkin, xe has the ability to see more than the Old One often wishes to reveal, and hir blue-eyed gaze is penetrating in a patient way. 

“Well,” Charis says. “Perhaps another story. A different one.”

“I’ll tell it,” Ezran says. “Apologies, Clar, and no offence.” 

Clar bows her head to Ezran. “Very little taken,” she responds wryly.

“This is a story my mother told me,” Ezran begins. “It was not so long ago, compared to Clar’s, though long enough that probably only Bluska and the Old One might remember.” Xe squints at Derra, silent and listening, seated beside Charis. “And maybe Derra. I don’t know how old you are.”

Eli laughs, and Derra grins. “Not so old as that,” he says easily. 

Clar clears her throat pointedly.

"You don't count, you remember everything," Ezran tells her. Clar flowers, but Ezran continues, “And Lares. Though he had a different name then.”

Lares looks away, toward the darkness of the back of the cave, but Wye curls around him more tightly and Severn makes a comforting noise low in his throat.

“In the time of the drift, when the Stargates were broken, and Elishavethir was reawakened, she was not alone among those who woke. There was also one called Neem. He was one of the Enemy who had sought to destroy Elishavethir when she was first human, and when he was roused from a sleep of death by accident, he raised with him more of the Enemy that Elishavethir had first died to seal in death. 

"They came to make an end to all life. But they were hampered by the Stargates being out of alignment. And, that they were remembered. There were ships prepared to combat them before they could build their own. They were swift builders, but Wraith have long memories."

The Old One bares his teeth. He remembers _that_ well enough. He was there the very first time, after all- he saw the way they devoured his brothers, the way the machines had burrowed into hives and torn them open. He remembers when they got _smart_ and started killing the humans, worlds wiped clean of sustenance. He remembers that time less clearly. There is something… large about it, that lies just outside of his perception. He sought the city again, he's certain, but it is… blurred. There are pieces of it that he can't make out.

"Once they learned he had begun to construct more like him, the Wraith organized hives to bombard Neem's planet, where he was constructing the others. Elishavethir could see his thoughts, as her body was made from the same stuff as the Enemy, though her spirit remained separate. She saw when Neem fled from the destruction and she followed him." 

Eli is watching Ezran, and the Old One wonders if Eli is aware that she is humming, a low thrum that echoes through a space between consciousness and the physical world and which is of particular sensitivity to Wraith.

"She had seen the destruction that his kind had wrecked on the galaxy," Ezran continues, "and she refused to let it happen again. The world where she found herself remade was visited by a vessel of the New Alliance, and Captain Samir listened to her when she said she had knowledge of the enemy.” Lares shifts beside hir, and Ezran says, “I will say no more of that, for there are many tales of the battle of Forminer Way and the final Siege of Dullan, and Samir is perhaps more famous even than Elishavethir to some." 

Eli gives a cat's smile, all teeth and crinkled nose, and Derra laughs. Eli may bear the old queen’s name, but Derra’s mother can trace her family ancestry directly to Captain Samir and does not hesitate to recite the Ballad of Forminer Way to any who show even a slight interest.

"But the tale I would tell is of the days after, when the galaxy was quiet again, peace seeping into routine. Elishavethir returned to her old kingdom, the city of Atlantis, but it had decayed in the millennia since her reign. Not many lived within the city, since those with the bloodline of the builders grew ever fewer as the ages wore on and there was more and more struggle to make the city mind them. Even the academy of sciences that Old Maky had established had moved on- to Taranis, where the cult of knowledge has stayed in ages since. Elishavethir walked the silent halls of her kingdom and did not know what to do with the emptiness."

Clar sighs and the Old One reaches to rest his hand on her shoulder. The Old One hadn't known Elishavethir at the time of the war; they had met later, when she came to him demanding that he remember the first time he had met her people, memories that he could not draw forth to her satisfaction. She had been angry, wounds still drawn fresh that for him had been seared away, and he had been less interested in compromise than he had when Kenakata had come to him in much the same way. They had parted poorly.

"But she found there remained one in her city who missed the days of its warmth as much as she did. It is told that he was called Alcus, though that is an old Lantean name and he was Wraith. He had remained in the city when the academy had moved to Taranis, because he loved the city’s mysteries more than knowledge. Alcus and Elishavethir grew closer as the days and years passed and as the people of the old city continued to abandon it for other homes. They loved one another, as perhaps neither of them had ever suspected was possible. Their offspring filled the city with life again, until Elishavethir passed on into the true after, and the last of her children eventually left the city, two thousand years ago." Ezran looks at Eli, but then turns hir gaze to Lares. "In the tale of Elishavethir there is healing and forgiveness, and also the weaving together of endings and beginnings, so that we see death as what it is- a step in the journey."

In the silence that follows hir telling, Clar sighs. "I don't like that story," she says petulantly. 

Ezran nods. "The death of things can be sad," xe agrees, "but it is necessary. Even Atlantis."

"But you are going there now," Charis interrupts. Her eyes narrow shrewdly. "And this company does not seek only escape from this world through the portal." She says it as fact, not question. 

Ezran grins. "No," xe says easily. 

The Old One stands, all eyes going to him. "The storm has ended," he says. "Let us go on our way."

* * *

The sun is setting, and so they make good time for a few hours under stars and clear skies, by the light of two moons. 

Bluska leads the procession that walks through the night. The Old One hovers between Clar and Ezran, and Derra brings up the rearguard, chatting with Eli. Any of the Wraith can lead their way, though Bluska periodically checks in with Eli; her senses are the most highly attuned to their destination. 

Lares is walking beside Clar. "You have McKay's memories," he observes. She nods, watching him warily. He nods in return and they walk for a few more paces before he asks, "When you tell the stories, you still call him Maky like the others. Why don't you say his name correctly?"

"Because who someone is remembered as is more important than the name they were born with," she replies. "No one knows who 'McKay' is, but people love Old Maky. They tell stories about him; there are still dedications in his honor when the Library of Taranis opens a convocation. That has power."

Lares hums in his throat. "Names can have power," he agrees. 

"They can, Michael," Clar says. 

Lares stops. Some emotion rises in him and he fights it back. 

Clar says over her shoulder, "I remember Bright Star, too."

Lares starts walking again, though probably to stay closer to Clar than to the Old One, who glares at him balefully.

Clar continues. "I have often wondered how Bright Star stopped Suurin. I don't have first-hand memory of the confrontation. The last download of his memory was made before Old Maky left Atlantis with you." 

Lares bares his teeth, his shoulders hunched against the accusation he can feel, prepared for it to arise from her speaking of the past, or from the Old One's glare. 

They walk awhile yet, until the current patch of dunes gives way to firmer rock. “I killed him, but it was too late to stop him,” he says, his voice barely discernible above the sound of wind. “I was… Halid was dead and I cared about nothing but watching everything burn. I started the fire, but McKay was the one who agreed that it would work to destroy the disease, and who made sure to burn the backup drives with all my notes. I didn’t protest. I had killed Halid as much as Jaren had. Or 'Suurin,' as he is remembered.” Clar waits, and Lares continues without prompting, “I don’t know how I survived. I woke up in a dart sitting before the Stargate on a different planet. I didn’t remember getting in the dart, much less flying it to a world with a Stargate. It must have been McKay’s work.” 

Clar nods. “I know you were at the Siege of Dullan, too,” she says. She sniffs. “Though you managed to not get named in that telling.”

Lares snarls under his breath, a sound that turns into a laugh. “You really are like him,” he says. “I met a ship of Xarians at Forminer Way. It was easy enough to hide myself among them and avoid detection.”

Clar nods. “Xarians are a religious sect noted for their enveloping robes,” she says. She turns and looks at the Old One.

Realizing her instructional aside was meant for him, he snarls. He doesn’t care, and he already knew that. He falls back, giving her and Lares more distance. 

They walk on for a bit before Lares says, "It was a naquadah-eating microbe." 

Clar turns her head to him in interest.

Lares looks away. "You said you knew I was at Dullan.” His voice rises slightly in defensiveness. “So, you noticed how the remaining Replicators stopped attacking in concert. They could assimilate anything, but they had a weakness that I exploited. They could not read on their sensors a microbe that operated without light or heat, so, as it fed rapidly on their metallic flesh, they could not stop it until it was too late." He looks sideways at Clar and snarls in warning, "I still remember how to breed them in a lab."

Clar levels an exasperated look at him. "I think you learned your lesson in that,” she shoots back.

Lares stiffens and stalks ahead. It is mere steps before he’s back though. 

The Old One sighs and scouts to the side, quickening his pace to join Bluska. 

* * *

As the day’s heat nears unbearable levels- Bluska carrying Clar, Charis leaning heavily on her staff, and even Derra’s feet lifting from the clinging sand less swiftly than usual- Eli, leading now, calls back to them from the top of the ridge ahead. _We are there,_ she says, her mental voice thick with emotion. It is her first sight of the home her foremother died to defend- and returned to, to live in again.

Lares reaches for Charis and rests an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “It is just over the ridge,” he tells her, helping her stand upright.

The Old One huffs a sigh of annoyance that Eli would include Lares in her speaking, but, as close as they are to their destination, he knows his old grudge is a luxury. He lifts Severn from a sandbank where the young Fayn has fallen in his rush. Ezran yells to Derra, who whoops a loud hunter’s call, and they are all invigorated as they follow Eli up the last ridge. 

Charis halts when she tops the ridge, a soft, “Oh!” escaping her mouth as she beholds the city for the first time as well. “It’s so big.” The sand falls away before them and the city breaks the surface of it in intermittent places as far as human eyes can see, thrusting the hard metal curves of it above the sand as if in an attempt to forestall being pulled under. 

Bluska chuckles. “Good thing, or we’d have lost it in the desert ages ago.” He hefts Clar higher up his back and starts down the ridge, focusing on his balance as he half slides, half skies his way down the sand dune.

The Old One looks up at the city. It looks small to him, the central spire the main holdout against the desert’s encroachment. Something stirs in him, but they aren’t late yet, and that’s all he truly knows. 

After crossing a section of hard, rocky ground they reach a hump of sand that Derra and Bluska dig out to reveal a metallic doorway.

Ezran steps up to it, touching the door panel with hir hand. Nothing happens and xe grunts. Stepping back xe turns to Eli and says, “Well?”

Eli glares at hir. “I can _feel_ it, that doesn’t mean I can necessarily _talk_ to it,” she grumbles, but she steps forward and rests a hand against the door. 

“Ezran hoped to have the mark of the blood of the builders,” Clar is explaining to Charis. Ezran glares at her, and she shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now, and honestly it wasn’t likely. No one knows how to test for it anymore,” she says, again to Charis. “Though Ezran’s family tradition holds that xe is related to one of the first Inheritors.”

“Beckett,” Lares says. Ezran turns from watching Eli to look at him. Lares meets his eyes then looks away. “He had eyes like that.”

“And now,” Clar interrupts. “Eli is attempting to see if her own unique ancestry will allow her to speak to the city, as some of her aunts have said that they were able to.”

Eli opens her eyes and sighs in defeat. “It’s not working. Clar, it’s your turn.”

Clar steps forward smugly, and she doesn’t even have to touch the door, it grinds open as if attempting to flee from her open palm raised to it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eli gripes, but they all enter under the comforting shade provided by the city entrance.

The Old One is the last to enter, ensuring that none are left outside in the elements. He rests a hand on the wall beside the doorway. He feels as if the city should impart to him some reason for why he is here, but he is as frustrated as Eli when it remains silent. 

The area they have entered is small. Eli explores forward, her sharp eyes scanning the dark halls ahead. “The passage is filled with sand,” she reports. "We can't get through from here."

Clar is at a computer interface frowning. “I don't think _I_ can get through from here,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "To the main power conduit, I mean."

“You don’t _think_?” Ezran teases.

Clar glares. “This station isn’t connected to the main network. Oh, and it’s more than _fifty thousand_ years old. It’s a little slow, since it hasn’t gotten regular maintenance in over two thousand.” 

Ezran holds up a hand to fend her off in mock fear.

“Saa, saa,” Derra interrupts their tiff. “We’re just here till the sun sets.” He takes off his pack and settles against a wall. “It’ll take half a day to cross to the spire. Easier to do when it’s not as hot.”

“I know,” Clar says. She twitches her cloak around her. She takes off the canteen she carries and goes to offer it to Charis. “I don’t need a lot of water,” she explains. “If you’re short at all.”

“My thanks,” Charis says, her voice rough from the wind and the sand. She sips from the canteen.

“There’s proper respect for your elders,” Eli says to Ezran. She kicks hir boot. “Aren’t you going to offer me water?”

Ezran snorts. “Charis isn’t Clar’s ‘elder.’ Clar is just nice.” Ezran slits hir eyes at Eli. “I’m not.”

Eli laughs herself into a fit. “I suppose only the Old One is Clar’s elder. Maybe Bluska counts?” She looks across the space to where Lares sits. “How old are you, Lares?”

He holds her gaze. “I’ve died too many times to remember,” he replies.

Eli grins, but quiets rather than find too much amusement in it. 

Ezran goes to sit beside Lares, pausing a moment before xe seats himself to see if xe is welcome. Lares nods to hir and as Ezran sits they look deeply into one another’s eyes. “Halid had eyes like that as well,” Lares says, and he looks away.

“Will you tell me about him?” Ezran asks. “Not now. But someday.”

Lares nods, and then they are all quiet, waiting for nightfall.

The Old One is closest to the open doorway. There is no wind, so no need to shut it against the sand, and he looks out at the hills that are the drowned city, and the pieces of it that still break free from the sand. He remembers, but he doesn’t yet _remember_ … Something will happen, and he will remember then. He trusts Old Maky. Old Maky sent him here, from more than forty thousand years in the past, he sent the Old One to fulfill a purpose. And he will do it.

* * *

Once night falls, crossing the remaining sand to the area close to the central spire is quick work. 

They find a doorway in a lesser spire that is wrest open and has been left that way for a while- there is sand blown down the hallways. Eli bares her teeth, but they knew that others had been here before them; travelers seek the Stargate and have since times when the city was able to welcome them. 

The city thrums and lights blink on as Clar steps inside, a blue light that ripples down the walls and then back. “This hall will lead us to the main chamber,” she says. “The way is clear.” She leads the way. They are in her element now, and she walks boldly, her hood thrown back. 

As they come to the center spire, the Old One sees places that look familiar to him, and, as they climb the steps to the Stargate, he feels someone standing at his shoulder. He glares at the ghost, but there isn’t anything there. 

The Stargate is glowing and humming softly in greeting to Clar as she climbs the last steps to stand before it. Behind it, the wall is a large window out to the desert, stars and moons shining down. Sand is swept up against where the ring enters the floor, it crunches under Clar's feet as she walks up and touches the curve of the Stargate, following the metal as far above her head as she can reach, and she hums in return greeting.

“Clar,” the Old One reminds her softly.

She shakes herself and turns to Charis. “Where do you wish to go? I can dial out for you.”

Charis leans on her staff and looks at their group. “We’ll wait a bit,” she says. She looks over at Wye standing beside her. “And see what you’re here about, if you don’t mind.” 

“And hear more stories,” Wye says, her voice demanding. 

“Stories,” Severn agrees. 

Clar smiles, always eager to be appreciated, but glances at the Old One.

The Old One has moved past them, to the upper level where chairs are set before interfaces that glow softly in the light of awakening that Clar has brought them. He’s not really paying attention, but he feels Clar’s question, and he says, “They may stay, if they so desire.” There is nothing they can do, at this point, he doesn’t think. Not even Lares. The Old One was to be here, and a thing was to be delivered to him. He can’t remember what. “We may be here some time,” he cautions. He looks up. “Old Maky gave me a span of time, not a precise date.”

Charis doesn’t look concerned. “We’ll take a look around,” she says. “To think that we have come to the city of the Inheritors…” She wanders down hallways, the young Fayn following her. Bluska and Eli have headed in the other direction and shove open a door that leads up into darkness, which they explore eagerly. Derra sits down on a step and pours sand out of his boots.

Lares turns to Clar. “You know why we are here, don’t you? What _he’s_ forgotten?” He jerks his head at the Old One.

Clar looks up at the Old One. “Yes,” she says simply. When Lares would press her for more, she holds up a hand to stop him. “I won’t speak of it until it becomes necessary. The Old One has sealed his memories away with a purpose and to disturb them prematurely would defeat that.” She fixes Lares with a gimlet look. “You of all people will not press me on this.”

Lares pulls away from her, and he and Ezran disappear down another hallway. 

The Old One stands at the upper consoles, feeling the city waking under his hands. The voices of his companions are distant, and he soaks in this place and sees if he remembers it. 

It brushes up against something, like the cats that Old Maky had always favored, but he cannot see it yet. 

“It will come,” Clar says, and he opens his eyes to look at her. 

“You are not terribly like him,” the Old One mutters.

Clar brightens. She has fought to be her own self, and to be more than what she was made. She takes pride in her maker, but the Old One knows it hurt her when Lares said she was like Old Maky. “I can be,” she allows. 

He scoffs. “No more than a daughter.”

She laughs happily and seems more settled. She looks up at him and reaches to wrap her hand around his arm. “It’ll happen,” she assures him. 

“I know,” he replies. He doesn’t know what he awaits, but, “Old Maky’s word was always good.”

Clar nods. 

* * *

The night wears on, and eventually the group gathers back together, on a level above the Stargate, where there is an open room where they can sit together. They rest awhile and wake late in the day. The sun is soft yet on the sand, but there is little to do other than explore, or hear stories.

“Wye asks for the telling of the history of Atlantis,” Clar says, and she sounds pleased because that is a long story, and it's one that she knows more of than anyone living. “This story begins on a world far from here, so far across so many stars, it was in another galaxy entirely…”

The Old One listens fondly. Clar's telling is engaging, and the young Fayn watch the movements of her square hands with their long fingers raptly.

"...and as they spread out across the worlds of all the universe, they became known as the Gatebuilders..."

The Old One wanders out of the room to look down the hallway and down at the Stargate. Sunlight falls over it, softened by the shading of semitransparent panels in the wall. His thoughts drift as he listens to Clar’s rhythmic voice.

"...When they first brought their great city to this galaxy that is our own, the Alterans did not know what they would find. Yet they were not just gate-builders but proficient in many ways of knowledge, as well as being incessant meddlers." 

Eli scoffs and Charis clears her throat politely but Clar doesn't break her concentration to acknowledge them. 

"The technology for which they had been known became merely the primary source of connection for the cultures that would come to fill the galaxy, and the Gatebuilders passed on to their descendants the ability to control that technology."

At first, the Old One suspects that it’s part of her story- but the symbols on the Stargate begin to glow. 

“Atlantis calls to all her children,” Clar continues. “No matter how distant they are.”

The Old One steps away from the room, steps toward the Stargate. Only the upper curve is visible over the balcony’s edge, but he can see the vortex forming and the way it falls back to the event horizon. A man steps through it. 

The man looks around him in surprise. "Somebody turn up the heat in here?" He seems to be talking to himself but as he turns around to view the entirety of the room he looks behind the Stargate, seeing the desert through the wide window there. He turns back around, a panicked look on his face as he reaches for a device at his ear. “... _anyone_ read?” 

The Old One stands at the top of the steps that lead down to the Stargate, not entirely sure how he got there, memories surging up in him like a fountain. He breathes, “Sheppard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from bagheerita: Through her comment on my other story "When You Give a Wraith a Name," Palatinedreams inspired me to the use of a sort of linguistic drift naming technique, and my character in that story Blue Sky then became the eponym of "Bluska." :)  
> Also, when I had the initial idea of a story that was set in the future, I immediately thought of a fic I'd read ages ago called [Through the Eyes of Infinity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327313), a Record of Lodoss War fic about two immortal characters meeting again thousands of years after the events of canon. While my story has an extremely different take on that meeting, that was where the idea of "Michael" being included in the story came from. 
> 
> Notes on the images (from Eos):  
> *Stock SGA images have been used as a reference for Todd, Bluska, Eli and Charis.  
> *Derra is based on the person in [this photo](https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-3a90b9de145335ecb8d1904c539d307a-c).  
> *Wye and Severn's appearances are from the author's imagination but their poses were inspired by [ images of Rebecca Romijn-Stamos as Mystique in the X-men film](https://loveofreadingbooks.blogspot.com/2014/11/throw-back-thursday-mystique-rebecca.html).


	3. 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (From Eos: illustrations in this chapter include more drawings of bagheerita's original characters, a chapter letter, and a depiction of the final scene.)

heppard looks up at him. “ _Todd_?” he hisses. “What are you… If this is your idea of a practical joke...” He walks up the stairs toward the Old One. “Where _is_ everyone?” His eyes dart around, and he demands a little more loudly, “What is going on?”

“Sheppard.” Todd reaches out and touches the man’s face, grabs him and pulls him close, burying his face against Sheppard’s hair. 

“ _Todd_ ,” Sheppard protests, pushing him away and looking around.

Todd _remembers_. He remembers the look and the feel and the sound of Sheppard, the electric _presence_ of him, the way he moved and the way his stubborn refusal to conform to what he _should_ be was illuminated by his very existence. 

And Todd remembers that there had been a pretense they had needed to maintain when around Sheppard’s compatriots, though Kenakata’s eyes had always sparked with knowing. 

_Carter_. She had trusted him with a message, as well as the knowledge McKay had given him, and there are others too, other messages given to him to relay, but of more importance is the man in front of him.

“Sheppard.” He allows Sheppard to push him away but holds the man’s attention. “You have not returned to the city that you left,” he tries to say gently. He is still remembering everything that was locked away, Sheppard's dogged insistence: _They'll come for me. We don't leave people behind._ Sheppard has left his people behind in this instance, and Todd does not think the realization will come to him easily.

Sheppard’s face is taut with tension though, and Todd wonders if he already knows. “Did you move it? Is that where the ocean went?” he asks. He shakes himself and steps away, headed to the control panels, laying a hand on them though they are brittle from time and lack of care. “Is everyone out looking for Teyla?” He moves restlessly, then halts abruptly and Todd looks up to see Sheppard has seen Lares standing in the hallway, looking at them.

Sheppard steps back, already drawing his weapon. “What is he doing here?” he hisses.

“I have asked that same question,” Todd mutters, but he says, “Sheppard, Teyla is well.” 

Sheppard stops and looks at him, and Todd remembers with an almost visceral power the way that Sheppard could make him feel- those eyes bright and focused on him and not willing to hear lies.

“She is not imperiled at the time,” he amends. “She lived a long life and led her people and left a great legacy.”

Sheppard sags. “Don’t.”

“It is the truth,” Todd says, his voice gentle. 

“I wondered where you went,” Lares says, eyes curious and unsympathetic as they rest on Sheppard. “I thought you had died. Though of course at the time I wasn’t in a position to ask for details and it was enough that you were gone.” He smiles darkly.

Todd snarls at Lares; Sheppard’s weapon comes up again, and they are united in this moment against this foe.

“You aren't being clear enough, Todd. You are making things more difficult.” Clar walks out from the room where Todd had left the others, who in turn come following out after her. They spread along the space between the hallway where the room is and the stairs where Todd and Sheppard stand.

Clar halts a few steps away. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, when you stepped into the Stargate, leaving your unfruitful meeting on M4S-587, you were transported over forty-eight thousand years into the future.” 

Sheppard’s stance gets even tighter, his face paler, and, having just come into full possession of his memories again, Todd wants to go to comfort his brother. 

Sheppard lets his eyes examine Clar. “You’re not… Who are you?”

Her face softens. “My name is Clar. I am an android first built by the man you know as Rodney McKay and modeled after his physical appearance.”

Sheppard nods, but it is almost that he hasn’t fully comprehended the words. His eyes flicker over the others, pausing only briefly at the Fayn. “How do I fix it?” he asks. “How do I get back?”

“It was McKay’s deepest wish that we be here to greet you when you arrived, so that you would not be alone,” Clar says, not really answering Sheppard’s question. “He wanted to be here himself but was called upon to be a hero remembered by all instead.”

Sheppard gives a half-smirk, but it disappears quickly, and Todd can tell he is still shaken. “Sounds like Rodney.” He inhales. “You can’t expect me to…” He shakes his head. He looks at Todd. “You’re saying there’s no way back.”

“To use a Stargate to travel in time rather than distance is something that is never reliable," Clar replies. "Traveling from a future date to a specific date in the past, on _purpose_....Well, in this case, the span of time is so vast and the nature of the sun so altered that finding a solar flare that correctly matches the precise requirements necessary to return to the specific point in the past that you left is, practically speaking, impossible." 

Sheppard inhales shakily. 

"John," Clar says, her voice compassionate. "I hold within me the most advanced technology in two galaxies and more information concerning solar flares than anyone else in all of history has amassed. If it is your wish I will dedicate my existence to studying how this world’s sun has changed so that at the moment it produces a potential flare that is a viable match I will be able to make use of it to return you." 

"That's insane," Eli mutters. "It could take hundreds of years. If it ever happens."

Clar doesn't even look at Eli as she responds, "I am prepared to wait."

Sheppard shakes his head, running his fingers roughly through his hair. He mutters, seemingly mostly to himself, "I need to… This is." He shakes his head again and turns away. "I need a minute." He sits heavily on the first of the steps that lead down to the Stargate, looking up at the unyielding curve of the ring.

Clar sits at the other end of the step. She raises her eyes to Todd. 

Her meaning is clear, even though Todd snarls at her silently. 

_Leave them,_ Todd commands the others. He turns to Eli, head cocked in challenge to see if she will fight him on this. 

She bares her teeth but doesn't argue; she may be a queen, but he was old before her progenitor's _species_ had been thought of, and he holds a certain power of his own. 

The others disperse, go back to the room to rest, or to discuss this development, or going off to explore more, but Todd cares little for anything outside his reawakened mind, and he takes a path down a different hall to where a door opens to a balcony shielded from the afternoon sun, but where he can look out at the desert. 

Forty-eight thousand years he has waited for this moment. And, for almost all of that time, he hasn’t remembered why. But… _Sheppard._ He shivers. 

He remembers. He had held those memories set aside for this moment so that they may not fade or be distorted in any way. They are sharp as ever; he remembers the precise shade of Sheppard's eyes under the warm glow of hive lights, the way they were swallowed by the blackness of his pupils, the way his lips would part and suck in shuddering breath, his desire rising strong in him. The memory unfolds in his thoughts.

He has waited a long time. He can wait a bit longer for Sheppard to find his feet.

* * *

Sheppard comes to him as the sun rises the next day. He walks out onto the balcony behind Todd, coming up to stand beside him.

Todd knows he has been with Clar all night, and Sheppard confirms, “Clar told me what happened. To everybody. When I… didn’t come back.” He shifts his weight, squinting against the rising sun. “Played me some recordings she had, notes people left for me, I guess after Rodney figured out what happened.” 

He pauses, and Todd does not try to fill the silence, letting Sheppard take what time he needs. 

Sheppard looks at Todd sidelong. “She said you have more messages.” The words demand an answer without being a question.

Todd turns to meet his gaze. “If it is what you wish, I will share them with you,” he assures.

Shepard is looking at him searchingly. “You waited. All this time. I can’t…” He shakes his head and looks out at the sand. “Long enough for the ocean to dry up and a team of scientists to install a shield to hold back the sun so the planet didn’t completely burn up. I can’t comprehend that much time. And you waited, to be here to give me a message from Teyla.” 

His tone is hard to read, but he almost sounds angry. 

“No,” Todd assures him. “I have not _waited_ here. I have lived looking forward to this moment and with the desire to be here when it arrived.” Sheppard looks at him. Todd looks back at him, his dark hair and his familiar face. “Even Wraith eventually recall details with less clarity over the course of many millennia, but I took all my memories of you and shut them away so that none of them would fade at all. I would never forget you, John Sheppard, but I remember the feel of your touch as if I last saw you yesterday.” Sheppard inhales, his lips parting, and Todd looks out at the desert. “Teyla Emmagan knew what I had decided, as did Carter, and they trusted that I would see it through. Old Maky- McKay,” he corrects himself, “didn’t understand, though he trusted that I would do what I had set my mind to.”

“Clar said.” Sheppard clears his throat. “That Rodney gave you the way to know when to find me again.”

“He did entrust the information to me,” Todd replies. “At the time I was the most certain option, though he of course had other plans, and gave the calculation to Clar, and the others.”

“Yeah, I guess there used to be a couple, um, androids running around looking like Rodney.” Sheppard makes a rueful expression. “I almost want to see that.” 

“Maky left three of them,” Todd murmurs, “when he went to confront Suurin and never returned. Empty bodies with the intelligence he had manufactured, and with copies of his memories to inform their thoughts. Astyana was his chief assistant- Bluska’s progenitor. She oversaw the final process of bringing them online. Clar is the last one that remains.”

“I can’t believe he managed to create AI, though I probably should,” Sheppard murmurs. His face is dry and Todd wonders if he has yet mourned for his past and the world that moved on without him.

“Sheppard,” Todd murmurs, and Sheppard shivers. 

“Give it to me,” Sheppard says abruptly, and he turns to Todd, looking stubborn. “Teyla’s message.”

Todd nods and doesn’t argue. He turns to face Sheppard fully. “It would be more comfortable for you to be seated,” he suggests and follows action to words, sinking down, his legs crossed, both hands resting easily on his knees. 

Sheppard sits facing him. He regards Todd’s right hand with ill-concealed curiosity, and Todd spreads his fingers so that Sheppard can see. He volunteered for the gene therapy as soon as it was viable and does not recall regretting it, whatever Lares may say about the prejudices that arose later when the retrovirus was developed and became more popular. Sheppard runs his fingers over Todd’s palm and the unbroken skin there. He looks up at Todd. His expression is unreadable. Todd knows that means he is holding back deep emotion. 

Todd offers both hands to Sheppard, and Sheppard takes them. Todd closes his eyes and hums. He reaches for Sheppard’s mind; it feels precisely the same as he remembers, which is entirely logical as both his memory and Sheppard himself have been preserved from shortly after the last time they touched in this way. It is only Todd himself, his physical body, for whom this reaching is an old thing that revels in the feel of Sheppard’s mind like a… well, perhaps like a traveler who has long wandered in a desert, having found at last the fresh well he sought. 

He knows the moment that Sheppard feels him in return because he gasps and his hands tighten in their grip. His thoughts scramble against Todd’s mind, frantic and disorganized as they always seem, until Sheppard lets his essence rest against Todd’s, calming his thoughts and directing them, until their two minds flow together, side by side like parallel streams. 

“I forgot,” Sheppard mutters. “It wasn’t last week for you; you’d think _you’d_ be the one-” He clears his throat. 

_It is not so natural for you, John_ , Todd replies. _And that is why you have to reach for it every time._

Sheppard hums. Settling back into the familiarity of the contact, his thoughts skip through Todd’s memories that Todd holds open to him. Most of them are of no interest to him but when he comes upon a familiar face he stops.

 _“This is when I miss that flesh body the most,” Old Maky grunts. He and Todd are standing in the East Tower and Maky’s hand is burned black, the wire structure of it showing through breaks in his false skin. Todd chuckles and Maky turns his hand side to side in examination. “The city used to like me more._ That's _something I'm going to need to fix." His eyes flash with interest at this new problem. "I wonder if I could find a way to integrate the cue of the gene onto my new body in a way that Atlantis would recognize." He scoffs. "That might actually be interesting." Maky yells down the passageway. “Duncan! Get up here with that gene already!”_

_When there’s no answer he turns to a woman sitting in the corner, her attention focused on the screen before her as she inputs data, long red hair tied back from her face. “Michiko, where did he run off to?”_

_She looks up and blinks at Maky. “He was here a moment ago,” she replies before going back to the interface she’s working with, quite obviously finding it more interesting._

_Todd laughs. “You should plan your projects one at a time, Maky, or control your minions better.” He chuckles again._

_Maky gives an incredulous snort but his reply is cut off by the arrival of Duncan, black hair mussed and askew as he runs into the room muttering, “I hear ya, I hear ya.” He throws himself down in the Command Chair, blue eyes looking both annoyed and excited. “What did ya need today, boss?”_

The memory fades as Sheppard pulls back. “Wow. He really.” His hands tighten around Todd’s and Todd opens his eyes to see Sheppard blinking furiously. “I um. I know Clar said, but he really did…” He trails off.

Todd doesn’t remark upon it, instead turning his attention to what Sheppard had requested. _If you are ready,_ he says, and he reaches in for the requested memory. 

_Todd is sitting much as he is now with Sheppard, but across from him is Teyla Emmagan. She is perhaps seventy at this time; well advanced in her life, but still not near the end of it._

_Teyla sits with her head bowed but she looks up and opens her eyes. She smiles. “John.”_

Todd feels Sheppard inhale raggedly.

 _Teyla’s smile does not dim, though she does not truly see Sheppard. “I cannot say it is good to see you again, for by the time you receive this it will be well beyond my time in this world. But I am glad that you_ will _receive it. When we realized what had happened to you, we mourned for you as one who had died, because for us it was as if you had. Rodney was determined to not give up, however.” Her lip quirks in a familiar way. “I suppose you will know better than I how well he succeeded.” Her fierce gaze seems to capture Sheppard. “We mourned, and we moved on, but John, we never forgot you. And I am greatly pleased by the thought that you have not left this galaxy, but only moved ahead to see what we have made of it. I think we have done well, by the example you have given. John.” She caresses Todd’s wrist, which John feels as Todd’s fingers moving against his own. “I remember the day we met, the Culling on Athos. The day you looked at me and_ saw _me when your commander looked through me, and after that when you refused to leave us behind. More has been built from that, John, than you might even realize.” Her smile grows fond. “I am certain that you miss us and are perhaps resentful that the world moved on without you. But it could only do so because of what you left behind.” She squeezes his hands again and leans forward, resting her forehead against his. “Farewell, John.”_

Todd sits for a few moments yet, his forehead resting against Sheppard's in the echo of Teyla's gesture, but his patience finally deserts him and he raises his left hand to cup Sheppard’s cheek. It is wet with tears, and Todd hums comfortingly, turning to press his lips to Sheppard’s temple. 

Sheppard pulls away, wiping the tears from his face in denial. “She was younger there,” he says gruffly. “Than the message Clar had.”

“Yes.” Todd allows. Teyla Emmagan had been the one to come to him and suggest that he would outlive them all and therefore he was the logical one to carry memories to Sheppard in the future. McKay had denied that there was anything he could not accomplish with technology, and it had been at a later date that he succeeded in devising a way to preserve the recorded messages of many in a way that would outlast even the system that held the data. “Many recorded messages for you as they were able, but Teyla did it to humor McKay, as she had already left with me what she wished to say.”

“I could _feel_ her,” Sheppard says. “Like she was still here.”

Todd thinks about that. “I suppose she is still in the memory, as much as she was present the day it happened.” 

Sheppard looks at him like Todd is crazy for not realizing how important that is. He clears his throat. “You said you had others.”

Todd hums in agreement and offers his hands to Sheppard again. 

There are several others, but the next in importance is a long message from Carter. She begins with an amused observation, _“I suppose you won this one in the end." She rests her hands in his. Todd chuckles; they have worked together for many years at this point, but he remembers their first meeting. She raises her eyes to meet his. Her hair is more grey than golden, and her face is lined, but her eyes are still bright. “John. I recorded most of this information and passed it on to Rodney for his project but Teyla mentioned this option and I thought I would cover all my bases._

_“As I’m sure you can imagine, you were declared KIA after Rodney determined what had happened, and when, despite his protests, it was determined that there was no way of retrieving you. I spoke to your brother myself. I couldn’t tell him much, but I hope I made it clear to him how important you were to us, and to the continued safety of the galaxy. I promoted Lorne to fill your spot, and he's done well. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened with Teyla and Michael, so I won’t go into it. And with Todd.” She pauses. She’s looking at Todd of course, but Sheppard is seeing her look at him. “Jack-” she starts, but she shakes her head and does not speak for a long moment. “It was a tense time,” she says eventually. “But Todd was willing to listen, and I guess the universe had given me the words he could hear.” In the memory Todd scoffs, and Carter smiles wryly. “So, in a way, even though you weren’t here, I couldn’t have done it without you. Oh, I know they’re writing a ballad about it, so I’m sorry, but you’re out to the whole Pegasus Galaxy.”_

John laughs, an abrupt and choked sound that contains both humor and pain.

 _“I suppose most of the important stuff will make it in,” Carter continues, “so I’ll confine myself to the small things. Teyla’s first son is named after you. Jennifer was able to stabilize Carson’s condition; we definitely benefited from having both of them here. Oh, Ford showed up again. He was sorry to have missed you. But I was able to see him home and reunited with his family. Ronon… well. He had a lot going on for a while, even more than his usual anger. I thought we were going to lose him over the peace; he never was really_ happy _about the gene therapy Jennifer developed or pretty much anything that had us not shooting at Wraith. But he stayed on. I think he thought he owed it to you. Finally, Lyana got through to him and well… they’ve really been good for each other.” She frowns. “She may have been after your time. But he’s doing well. He has a family, and I think he’s finally stopped holding himself responsible for the past._

_“Rodney...” She sighs. "He didn't take Jennifer's death well, and he was even worse after Radek passed. He was always dedicated to his work, but lately even I can't distract him. John, he has every intention of being there to greet you, so I… I guess I’m telling you this because, if he does make it, I know you’ll take care of him.” She smiles her wry smile again. “You were always good at taking care of your team.”_

Sheppard shifts his weight. “What about you?” he murmurs. He opens his eyes and looks at Todd. “What about Sam?” 

“She is remembered as Kenakata, a great queen of the Inheritors,” Todd murmurs. “The one who brokered the peace. Clar knows all the ballads, though she prefers storytelling.”

“She stayed, in Atlantis?” Sheppard asks, though he must have seen the truth of it already. “The IOA didn’t give her trouble? She didn’t get recalled?”

Todd frowns. “She stayed,” he confirms. “She defeated any who would take Atlantis from her. Her power was precarious before she managed to solidify a more permanent alliance between those who assisted in the destruction of the Replicators.”

He can remember now, her words. “ _You think you’re the only one who lost something here?” she had demanded, and he had snarled and pushed her down, his hand rising. She drew the knife and it was pressed against his spread palm, holding him back. “I lost him, too. And I lost Jack.” Her voice cracks, and he feels the anger and the sorrow that come out of her, so strong it almost sweeps him away. “But that doesn’t mean that we lose what they wanted. That we_ forget _what they were trying to build.” Her expression remains stern, but her voice softens. “If I was wrong, to think that you cared about Sheppard at all, then just forget I was ever here.”_

_And he had withdrawn his hand and said to her, “You are not wrong.”_

He returns from the memory. “But after the alliance, her position was secure. Your people tried to send another at one point, to treat with my hives, but that did not last long. They realized that Kenakata was revered and returned her city to her.”

Sheppard smirks. “I can just imagine the IOA sending… I dunno, Woolsey probably.” He chuckles.

Todd thinks back. “It was a woman. I don’t recall her name. She was very… ambitious. No sense of humor.” He grins toothily.

Sheppard laughs, but quickly sobers. He is holding Todd’s hands, his fingers stroking over Todd’s wrists. “It was a long time ago,” he murmurs. He shivers. “Todd, it was _yesterday,_ ” he says, and his voice is desperate. “I…” 

Todd leans forward against him. “I would help you in any way I can,” he says. “Clar would do the same. If you still wish to try to return.”

Sheppard looks at him. “You would,” he repeats, making it a question, though it is one he has already answered. “Clar said it might not work, even if she can find a flare of the correct prominence. It might not send me far enough back.”

“Any time you would return to would be fortunate to have you,” Todd counters. “If you arrive but a few years later, you will still see them all again.”

“What if I’m a few centuries short?” Sheppard counters. 

“At any time, I will be there.” Todd tilts his chin up thoughtfully. “Perhaps not to greet you, as here, but if you seek me I will be there.”

Sheppard shakes his head, pulling back. Todd isn’t sure what part of that Sheppard disagrees with. Surely, in the first days Todd had been very angry- had accused Carter of withholding Sheppard purposefully while still seeking Todd's capitulation to her "alliance"- but he would not have held that anger against Sheppard.

The day has worn down to evening, and Eli pauses outside the door to the balcony, her foot kicking at rocks and sand to announce her presence. “Charis and her group are leaving. Ezran is going with them.”

Todd bares his teeth but sighs. “Xe is enamored of Lares,” he explains to Sheppard. “It will not go well,” he predicts to Eli.

Eli gives him an exasperated look. “Tell me he wasn't like this when he wasn’t quite such a stodgy old bastard,” she beseeches Sheppard. 

Sheppard grins, but sounds wary himself as he says, “Lares is Michael’s new name, right?” 

"'Michael'?" Eli sneers. “How much history did Clar have time to give you?”

“Look, I just got here,” Sheppard tells her. He stands. “I’d like to talk to them before they go, if they have a minute.”

Eli nods, and Sheppard looks back at Todd. 

Todd sighs and stands to go with them. He hangs back and lets Eli and Sheppard go first. 

“And you’re named after Elizabeth,” Sheppard asks. 

Eli grins. “Elishavethir is my foremother,” she says proudly. “I have come to see her kingdom, though,” she frowns, “my tie to her lineage is weaker than my aunts’. They could talk to the city, but it does not hear me.”

“I’m not sure I _want_ to know how Replicators reproduce with Wraith,” Sheppard mutters. “But I’m glad that Elizabeth found someone. That she had a chance to live more of a life, and a happy one.” He falls silent as they continue walking, until they return to the Stargate chamber.

Charis is standing at the control panel with Clar, looking at a map of addresses. Severn and Wye are excitedly darting around the gate room. Lares and Ezran are standing near the gate, close together, their eyes focused on each other.

Todd sighs. 

Ezran looks up, expression fiercely protective. _I am going with him. With them,_ xe corrects, indicating the group rather than just Lares, though Todd can feel the pull of xe's thoughts in that particular direction. _Do not make me do so leaving anger between us._

 _No, child._ Todd walks up to hir and rests his hands on Ezran’s shoulders, leaning their foreheads together. _As I have watched you grow, I have seen much of your ancestors’ wisdom in you, which has made me more prone to thinking of the past when you are concerned. But that is my affair, not your own. I trust your judgement, and though I do not_ like _him, I trust that Lares would not purposefully bring you to harm. Go, and live well._ He leans back. 

Sheppard is looking at Lares. “Clar said you saved Torren and Teyla’s life once. You know, after you’d first tried to kill them and take over the galaxy.”

Lares glares at him. “Do not think I have forgotten that you are one of the ones who did this to me,” he says, baring his square human teeth. “You are the last one left who can be made to pay for it, Colonel.”

Sheppard narrows his eyes and tenses.

“But I will release old grudges this once, in honor of the holiday.” Lares smirks. “Quite a holiday indeed, to have one of the _Inheritors_ show up in celebration.”

Ezran steps up to them and takes Lares’ hand. 

Sheppard looks at Ezran. “It’s been... however long, and I can see them in you,” he says. 

Ezran rolls hir eyes. “You see what you want to see,” xe observes. Xe looks at Lares. “Though you are not the first to remark on a resemblance.”

“Well you’re very Carson around the eyes,” Sheppard squints. “And Clar says you’re Wraithkin, so, somewhere down the line, you've probably got a bit of Teyla in you too.” He shoots a look at Lares, as if remembering a connection between all of these people. 

“I made my peace with Teyla Emmagan,” Lares says. “When I saved the life of her child and promised thereafter to stay well away from her and her kin.” He turns to face Ezran. “It was another lifetime. I will not apologize for my actions as they seemed entirely justified to me at the time, though I would not repeat them now.”

“What would you do now?” Ezran asks. 

“Now, I think I would very much like to see if any of my old hive remain and rejoin them as Lares. Let Bright Star remain a ghost of the past.”

Ezran nods. 

They look up to greet Charis and Clar who come down to them. “Are you ready?” Charis asks. 

“Yes,” Ezran replies. Eli gives hir a hug, slapping hir on the back, but xe’s already made hir farewells, and as the portal shimmers and forms, the five travelers walk up to it and vanish through it without a backward glance. 

The portal falls quiet after them, and Sheppard inhales. 

"Well." He looks around the empty, broken shell of Atlantis. "I'm sure the rest of you want to get out of here, too." 

Eli scoffs. "Why would we want that? I have only just come to the city of my foremothers. There is much still to see." She eyes Sheppard and asks Todd, _Would he speak to me of Elishavethir, or is it too soon? I do not wish to burden him._

Todd considers. _I think her loss is removed enough that it will not pain him to speak of her. But wait a bit._

"I was born in this city," Bluska offers. "I can give you the tour of what I remember." 

Eli rolls her eyes. "It is a place to start," she allows, and follows him to the stairwell. 

Derra stops at Clar's side. "You were born in this city as well," he observes. 

"For all intents and purposes, I lived in this city for ten thousand years," Clar observes, "Two thousand of which I remember firsthand. But Eli will do better to spend some time with Bluska. She doesn't like to admit it, but she doesn't do well without hive. It's the reason she wanted to come here and see her foremother's kingdom, and why she hoped to find a connection there." 

Sheppard shifts his weight in a manner Todd recognizes as him feeling compassion for Eli, and he knows Sheppard will tell her whatever stories she wants to hear of Elishavethir. 

"What's your gig, Derra?" Sheppard asks. "You've been pretty quiet." 

Derra shrugs and folds his arms over his chest. Clar looks at him fondly. "I like interesting things," he says after a moment. He jerks his chin at Todd. "He's interesting."

Sheppard nods, looking between Clar and Derra, and his eyes settling on Todd eventually. 

Clar clears her throat and looks pointedly at Derra.

Derra rolls his eyes. He holds out an arm to her in the manner of a sworn one to his queen, directing her back to the room where they had set their camp. "Sure you don't want some of my _pranes_?"

She curls her lip. "You _do_ know that citrus is deadly, right?" she mutters, but follows him. 

Left alone with Sheppard, Todd watches him. Sheppard is looking at the broken city, his shoulders tight.

"I know it seems a sudden thing to you," Todd says. "But your city was a place of life and hope for millennia and your people live in the galaxy still." 

Sheppard breathes raggedy. "And you?" 

Todd leans back. "Me?" 

Sheppard turns to look at him. "You're at least as old as this city. It's a ruin. Are you?" 

Todd laughs. "Sheppard. Wraith are never-ending." He steps forward, leaning toward the feel and the scent of Sheppard. "I am old among those who remain, but we do not wither and die from an excess of years." 

Sheppard shivers. "And you-" he swallows. "All this time. There's no way you haven't… found someone else."

"You think I do not care for you as I did before?" Todd steps forward. "You think you are replaceable?"

Sheppard's face shutters. "Everyone seems to have done well enough." He catches himself leaning into Todd and leans away. "You must have been with someone else."

Todd hums. "Do you think that my having loved another individual at a certain time precludes my ability to care for you now?" 

Sheppard flushes. "If Wraith are never-ending, then you waited forty-eight thousand years to spend a couple decades with someone who won't last longer than that," he says baldly. 

Todd frowns. "Is a moment worthless because it lasts but a moment?" He brushes his fingers over the curve of Sheppard’s face, humming in soft pleasure at the way the rough growth of hair on Sheppard's cheek scratches against his skin. “You have suffered much, and it is best that you take time to consider what you wish to do. We have provisions for several days and can then leave via the portal or make our way back to the village and await the coming of a vessel.” 

Sheppard nods to indicate that he understands, but his throat works in a way that suggests he has things he wishes to say but cannot yet find words for.

Todd’s expression softens. “You are not obligated to me, John, if you do not wish to be.” Sheppard looks up swiftly, but before he can speak the too quick reply on his lips, Todd continues, “But I do have more messages to share with you from those in the past, when you wish to hear them.”

Sheppard inhales slowly. He casts his eyes over the Stargate, standing like a lone sentinel against the sunset light, before turning back to Todd. “I want to hear them,” he says.

They go back to the balcony, already in darkness, and sit facing as they had been before. Todd offers his hands and Sheppard takes them easily. 

_A young man is sitting with his hands resting in Todd’s. He has dark skin and black eyes and a wry amusement that lingers in the muscles near his mouth. His black hair is cut military short and his uniform is dark blue, though any insignia is covered by the coat he wears. “I just start?” he asks. Todd nods, and the young man looks up and says, “Hello, Colonel Sheppard. You don’t know me, but, um, I know you.” He grins. “I mean I’ve heard a lot about you. My name is A.J. Ford.”_

Sheppard’s breath halts for a shaky moment.

_“I suppose I should say Aiden John,” A.J. continues. “After Grandpa Aiden, and my Dad, John, but he was named after you.” He looks down, and seems self-conscious a moment, his hands shifting in Todd’s grip. “Growing up, I would stay summers with Grandpa and he never got tired of telling stories about you. I thought he was making most of them up. I mean, the Stargate Program came public and everything, but still…some of the stuff he’d say.” He grins. “But when I joined the Atlantis Expedition, I came out here to Pegasus and…” he trails off, his expression one of awe and wonder. “It’s all true, isn’t it? And I can see- see why you’d come out here and not want to go back; why Grandpa would still love it as much as he still hates it.” He clears his throat. “But I just wanted to say hello. And that I see it, too.” He opens his hands, and the memory ends._

“Did he do okay?” Sheppard asks, his voice hoarse. 

Todd would sigh, annoyed that he should be expected to remember the fate of a single human who lived over forty thousand years ago, but in this case he does. “He was gifted in linguistics and did an in-depth study of Wraith vocal harmonics. He returned to your world for the funeral of his grandfather, but thereafter he traveled with my hive for several decades. He married a woman from Belara, and his descendants live there to this day.”

Sheppard nods. He stares out at the darkness for a long time, possibly looking at the stars, but just as possibly looking at nothing. He says finally, “Are there more?” He clears his throat. "I know Ronon wouldn't have-" Sheppard trails off and clears his throat and Todd gives a small huff of annoyance. Sheppard shakes his head, amused but also sorrowful, and continues, "I started on the messages Clar has, so it's not like I didn't see him, and Lorne, and Sam's official report, but there were others, who didn't make it that far."

“Any memories I hold I can pull forth for you,” Todd offers. Sheppard shudders and shakes his head, but there is an edge of curiosity to his refusal that Todd thinks means he will change his mind after thinking on it. “But I do have one more message that was left for you.”

Sheppard nods, his hands held ready. 

_McKay takes his seat in front of Todd, moving slowly. He holds out his hands, resting them in Todd’s. His skin is thin, hanging from his bones, his breath shaking in his throat, age catching him even as he flees from it. He glares at Todd. “I’m a little envious,” he admits. “But my solution is far more elegant. Anyway, let’s get to it.” He fixes Todd with his familiar no-nonsense look and says, “John.”_

Sheppard inhales, his hands almost painfully tight around Todd's. 

_"I'm sorry," is what McKay says. His expression falls. "No one really talks about it but… It's my fault. What happened to you. I um, we were upgrading the gate and… Well, because of the flare the wormhole never should have locked. But it did. And I'm sorry." He looks like he is feeling the entirety of his considerable age fall on him in this moment._

Sheppard makes a pained sound. “It’s not,” he murmurs. “God Rodney, it’s not your fault. It’s the chance we take every time we step through the gate, that we might not come back.” He shakes himself. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to go without all of you, but..." He looks away and Todd can feel that he wants to move his hands but doesn’t want to lose the thread of the memory. “You took care of each other and you did good, Rodney. You did good.”

The memory can’t hear him. _McKay rouses himself, continuing, “I’ve rather outlasted the limited capacity of this mortal body, so I’ve come up with a plan, of course, to give me some more time to figure out how to get you back. I’ve been distracted with coming up with a data storage system that would still work when the technology that holds it disintegrates without degrading the data itself, but now that_ that’s _not taking up so much time I’ll be able to dedicate more of my time to studying the solar flare patterns. Tomorrow I’m transferring my consciousness to a mechanical body. I’m sure everything will go to plan, but I…” He looks up, and Todd can feel that he is not looking at Todd’s face before him in that moment but is seeing Sheppard. “Just in case this doesn’t work, I wanted to say I was sorry. I…” He trails off again. “I’m sorry.”_

_“You have said that already,” Todd says in the memory._

_McKay glares at him, his gaze still fierce and his chin still stubborn despite the quivering of his flesh. “Well, I am. And I’m going to fix it.” He narrows his eyes at Todd. “This whole message isn’t even going to be necessary, so you can forget it after tomorrow, okay? I’ll tell him myself.” He focuses his attention back on John and the message and says, “We need you, John, and I’m going to find a way to bring you back.”_

Sheppard’s hands are holding on to Todd’s fiercely and Sheppard asks, “He didn’t, god tell me he didn’t live all that time only to be solely focused on something he failed at.”

“No,” Todd assures him. “This message was meant to be a last testament, if the procedure killed him and his other plans failed. So, he speaks only of his concerns for you and not the other projects that he had passion for.” Todd pauses a moment, thinking. “And once the transfer did work he felt much less confined by the limits of mortality.” 

Sheppard shakes his head. “Rodney McKay made himself immortal,” he says, his voice fond, but he frowns again and asks, “You’re sure he wasn’t still holding on to that, all that time?”

“He never became less fond of you,” Todd corrects. “We argued about it often, as he didn’t understand why I didn’t remember and I… I often chose to stay close to him, because some part of me knew he was important even if I couldn’t remember why.” He offers another memory to Sheppard.

_They are in Maky’s laboratory in Atlantis. Astyana is standing at the display panel in the center of the room- less arrogant than the queens of old perhaps but still with the desire to be at the center of everything. She is deep in thought, slitted eyes narrowed in annoyance at the information displayed. The Old One and Taibshe are near her, along with her offspring the young Bluska; Taibshe is teaching the young Wraith a logic game, learned by all younglings in their first decade, while working with the Old One to construct a map of the network of all the hives and their relative ages, to see who might be most in need of hiveship repair materials, of which they had recently discovered a cache. Maky is bent over his own workstation, grumbling to himself. “The system won’t work for Tarish,” he calls across the space to Astyana. “The thermodynamics of the volcanic ring completely throw off the wind algorithms so there is no consistency in the accuracy of the predictions.” He leans back and frowns, fingers tapping restlessly- the restlessness entirely in his thoughts as there is no physical reason for his artificial body to manifest restlessness._

_Astyana hisses in displeasure. “Only you would still be trying to make the Hanvarran system work for any other planet.”_

_“Predicting the ash storms they get on Tarish could save lives!” Maky protests. “It’s worth pursuing.”_

_Astyana makes a dismissive gesture with her left hand. “Of course, but the predictive algorithm of Hanvarra’s weather systems is based around the planet’s extremely slow rotation.”_

_“I factored in the rotational difference-” Maky begins to protest, standing from his seat and leaning over his workstation to gesture with one hand._

_Astyana makes her way over to his station, her long skirts swishing as she walks. “And the differing distance of Tarish from their star, I am certain, but did you allow for the change in the energy output from the_ class _of star?” she asks._

 _Maky opens his mouth, then looks chagrined. “I’ll allow that there is some difference between the output of a G-type star and an F-type,” he says magnanimously. He makes a slight coughing sound as a prelude to changing the subject and asks, “Have_ you _learned anything useful?”_

_Astyana sighs. “The solar flares are showing a vastly diminished correlation with the magnetosphere readings the farther ahead the readings were attempting to predict.” She shakes her head, the long fall of her hair drawing Bluska’s attention to his progenitor. “We can make reasonable predictions perhaps in advance approximately one rotation, but not more than that.”_

_Maky sighs. “So there’s no way to know if there will be a flare at the right time. Never mind one of the correct prominence. Well, that was a long shot anyway.” As he thinks, his fingers tap at the data input system like it still has keys that need to be pressed. “Maybe we could put him in stasis? That would give us some time to find a correct flare.”_

_“It would have to be a precise flare.” Astyana looks doubtful. “You can’t pop a human in and out of stasis without damage, so the prediction would have to be certain.”_

_“Yes, yes.” Maky waves a hand at her and frowns. “I know. We already talked about the decreasing probability of matching flares as the star ages.” He looks down at the data readout. “I just hate admitting defeat on this,” he says softly. “I promised Teyla I’d get him back.” Astyana hums softly in commiseration, and Maky shakes himself. “I don’t think she believed me,” he continues. “And in any case, I can still be there for him when he arrives.” He looks over at the Old One, who isn’t even pretending that he’s not watching their drama. He doesn’t remember_ what _they’re talking about, but it has to do with the paragraph-long equation he memorized, for measuring time at the atomic level, and it’s very important to Maky. He remembers that that means that it’s important to him too, even if he doesn’t remember why._

_Maky frowns at him; in days past Maky had tried to explain to him that someone was missing, someone he’d cared about. These attempts had never done more than strain their friendship by testing who was the more stubborn, but Maky was nothing if not persistent. “But there’s time yet for that,” Maky says now; his determined glare suggests another attempt in the near future. “In the meantime,” Maky turns back to his current problem, “the Hanvarran system helped on Progesh, and I heard they have an overabundance of grain this season that Geldar is interested in trading for, and that we might get a cut of for Atlantis if we can help with transportation.” He looks at Todd. “You got any spare ships in that web you’re building?”_

The memory feels warm and companionable, and Sheppard sits for a while after it ends. They have shared thoughts all through the night and the sand is paling at the edges of the horizon with the first hints of dawn. “He was not focused only on you, John, to the exclusion of living his life,” Todd says.

John nods. “Clar said she thought she could do it. Find a flare. But Rodney said there it wouldn’t work.”

“He said that it was unlikely,” Todd corrects. “But Clar has Maky’s hope.” He touches John’s face. “And his deep affection and willingness to try anything for you.”

Sheppard looks away, turning toward Atlantis rather than squinting into the rising sun, and his expression is torn.

“Do you want to return?”

Sheppard inhales, setting his shoulders. “Yes,” he says. “But no.” He looks at Todd. “It’ll take… years probably, until I feel okay with them not being here. Losing them.” He looks down at his hands. “I wish I could tell Rodney that he succeeded. That I’m not alone, and that it’s because of him. As much as he might think this whole thing was his fault, it’s his fault that I’m going to make it out of this at all.” He looks out at the desert, the sand warming in golden shades as sunlight crawls across it. “It’s not realistic, to go into stasis for who knows how long just on the off chance that there might be a flare that might be able to send me back. Not when I could be here.” He trails his fingers over Todd’s hands. “Doing things here.” He grins shyly. “Getting to know the people here.” 

Todd nods, humming softly. “You can take what time you desire, to accustom yourself to the change in your situation,” he offers.

John looks up at him, one eyebrow raised in impertinent question. “You know this was never about you,” he murmurs softly. 

Todd frowns, confused. 

John gets up, going to the balcony wall and curling his fingers around the top ledge. He looks out at the sand, though his head is bowed and eyes narrowed against the dawnlight. “I feel like the only time we had to be together," he says, voice soft, "was when the world was ending. You know, one crisis right on to another. We’ve never…” he clears his throat and says in a rush, “You don’t know how bad I am at this. At being with someone.”

“Ahh,” Todd says, pleased to understand the root of John’s insecurity. He rises and follows John to the outer wall, standing beside him and leaning in to rest his forehead against John’s temple. “I can assure you. I am very patient.” 

John huffs a laugh. “Yeah.” He ducks his head away but his body leans into Todd's, pressed against his. 

Todd closes his eyes against the bright light, letting his nose feel its way along the curve of John's neck to nuzzle the short hairs at the back of his head. 

John shivers, turning back to face Todd, their faces bent close, their lips almost touching. He seems about to speak, and Todd lets him sit in that moment and discover the words he wants. "A part of me can't believe this," John murmurs. "I feel like I'm going to wake up and be right back there, needing to go save Teyla."

Todd chuckles. "She required no such assistance," he reminds John, who grins. "But between us, I and Clar have filled your time with reminiscing and not let you rest."

Shaking his head and standing up fully, the lure of his hands drawing Todd away from the ledge along with him, John runs his fingers down the lines of Todd's jaw to his chin, drawing the focus of both their attention. "I couldn't sleep now," he murmurs, and there is an electric excitement in his words for the promise of the world that has been laid before him.

Todd hums in agreement. He rests his hands on John's shoulders, his long fingers meeting curled behind John's neck, thumbs brushing the delicate flesh of John's ears. He leans in, but it's John that meets him, opening to the kiss as Todd comes to rest in it. 

The feel of his lover's lips is as warm as the feeling of the dawn's light on their faces. 

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the images (from Eos):  
> *Clar is based on [ this gorgeous photo of a young David Hewlett ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190533962@N04/50812245103/in/dateposted-public/)  
> *Ezran's appearance was inspired by an image generated by 'Face App' which combined photos of Beckett and Teyla, and then it was painted digitally.  
> *Stock SGA images have been used as a reference for John, Todd, and Lares.  
> 


End file.
